


when you come knocking

by orderlyhouse



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (but more on a stupid side), Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Awkward Flirting, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Flirting (Good Omens), FFS (Feral Fandom Saturdays), M/M, Meet-Cute, Meet-Ugly, Romantic Comedy, more like awful tbh, oh my god they were neighbours..., you read that right :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27924619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlyhouse/pseuds/orderlyhouse
Summary: R. P. Tyler doesn't like it when anybody takes his parking spot, so when that happens and he fails to call the police on the man, he turns to someone else.Unfortunately, he doesn't consider Aziraphale's utter lack of negotiation skills, nor the poorly chosen Guardian of the Parking Spot succumbing to Crowley's awful flirting.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 103
Collections: FFS (Feral Fandom Saturdays), GO Meet-Cutes, Good Omens Human AUs





	when you come knocking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mehrto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mehrto/gifts).



> To mehrto, who enabled this with their sketch <3  
> I absolutely based this au on [a literal Hannibal meme](https://twitter.com/vergereel/status/1332723917744709634)  
>  **EDIT:** mehrto absolutely did [this art of Aziraphale looking cute as hell and admiring the plants](https://mehrto.tumblr.com/post/638232149425815552/when-you-come-knocking-by-polkanote-aziraphale) so please go check it out 😭🙏💖

Like many retirees, R.P. Tyler spent a lot of his time finally taking a look at the world around him after years of work, and often enough a lot of things he saw disappointed him.

Like, for example, somebody else taking his parking spot.

One could say that no spots on the parking lot belonged to anyone, and they would be right; but R. P. Tyler could say that this parking area was relatively small and accessible only to the right kind of people and an equally closed off flats block where the majority of people knew each other, and he would be right, too.

He would be equally right to say that Mr A. J. Crowley from the flat 6.66 had enough time to notice whose car occupied that spot since R. P. Tyler wasn’t driving about much these days, and to not park his flashy black and obviously vintage car on that spot.

Unfortunately, Mr Crowley didn’t think the same.

“Young man,” R. P. Tyler said looking right into Mr Crowley’s sunglasses that he was wearing indoors, in the doorframe of his own flat, right after he’d said that there were other parking spots and none of them had anyone’s name on, “you must realize that this is a reputable house with no place for public nuisance, including your- your org-” _parties_ “parties!”

Mr Crowley raised one eyebrow at that. R. P. Tyler couldn’t testify for sure, but he’d occasionally hear music somewhere in the building, and the man wouldn’t hide his eyes for nothing.

“So I suggest you move your car immediately, and not do this again!”

“Right,” Mr Crowley stood straight from his leaning on the doorframe, and uncrossed his arms, “’m not gonna do that. Didn’t know this was _anyone’s_ spot, _sorry_ , but I’m not looking for another one at the end of the day. I’ll do it tomorrow. Maybe.”

R. P. Tyler didn’t know what to say. In his day…

Well, strictly speaking, in his day he’d been even younger than Mr Crowley was now, but tried not to cross older people’s paths anyway since they were absolutely obnoxious to the youth and he’d sworn to never be like them.

But all he could manage was, “You should be ashamed of yourself!”

Mr Crowley sighed like he’d been working all day and didn’t need this trouble now (R. P. Tyler was sure he didn’t work, or if he did - nobody could afford a car like that with honest-earned money), and certainly rolled his eyes behind these glasses.

“Fine, fine,” he said, “call the police, and let them know they’re invited to my _orgy_ too.”

“Well, maybe I will!” R. P. Tyler said to the closing door.

Of course he wouldn’t.

Yes, he wanted to see his neighbourhood peaceful and quiet, an ideal upper-class building, but he wouldn’t be so clueless as to bother the police with petty hooligans when they had real criminals to deal with, since the block had other people to handle cases like Mr Crowley.

Other people, to whom he could also speak about Adam from the flat next door dragging his friends to his place every day after school.

* * *

Crowley hadn’t expected R. P. Tyler to call the police on him, but when he heard the doorbell for the second time that night, he wasn’t particularly surprised either.

The man had to look up at him and was a far cry from a cop even on a day off. He also didn’t say a thing for a while, and Crowley decided to go first. “Can I help you?”

The man snapped out of his trance. “Yes! Uh. I’m from the neighbourhood watch, and Mr Tyler-”

“The _what_?!” Crowley suppressed the urge to take his glasses off just to give him a good once-over. “Is this even a thing? In the blocks?”

His visitor couldn’t decide where to look. “It is here…”

“Right.”

“Well. As I said, Mr Tyler had asked me to talk to you about moving your car to another spot-”

“And why is that?”

The man gave him a tentative look.

“I’ve told him already, none of these parking spots are _somebody’s_. I just took the one that was most convenient at the moment.”

“I understand, but he’s a senior-“

“What’s your name?”

Another blink.

“It’s Aziraphale- I mean, Fell. Last name.”

“So your name’s Aziraphale Fell?” Crowley received another look that spoke of hearing this very question for at least ten times each year during this man’s middle-aged life. “I’m just saying! Just so I know who I’m speaking to.”

They both didn’t say anything for a couple of tangible seconds.

“Never saw you around here,” Crowley muttered more than said.

“Well, likewise. But I’ve moved in only recently.”

“And they already pulled you into doing _that_?”

The reproachful look he received wouldn’t work with Aziraphale’s beige cardigan and pastel blue shirt in 6,000 years, but it certainly added to the character.

A character Crowley would love to explore more, sans the settings.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, “I’ll move the car once I’m back from work tomorrow; I’m not doing it now with everyone else back and parking.”

Aziraphale looked like he was about to fume, but instead, he gave up.

“Is this really so hard to do,” he’d aimed for demanding, but changed his mind mid-way or got horribly self-conscious, which was unacceptable.

“Not any harder than waiting until tomorrow morning so someone else can take that spot.”

“Well then,” Aziraphale was scraping for the last bits of courage it seemed, hadn’t he got the memo that Crowley tried to flirt here? “Please do, and don’t do that in the future, since Mr Tyler will be contacting the police-“

“He won’t do that.”

“Well, I’m afraid if this happens again you’ll be getting a- a harsher talk.”

Oh, _no_.

Crowley had rarely done this in the past, but he knew what he was working with, and if this didn’t work he could always park his car the farthest from that particular spot.

Contrary to popular belief among people who didn’t know Crowley well enough, there had been nothing wrong with his eyes except their light sensitivity, so it was awfully easy for him to lower his sunglasses by one arm and look Aziraphale right in the eyes.

“Just how much harsher?”

Aziraphale took his time to search for something in Crowley’s eyes until he became very interested in the nearby wall, and then the floor, all while developing an adorable blush Crowley could see unobtrusive, and when his face made it clear that he was back and rather annoyed, he disappeared from the spot he was standing in with dashing speed.

“Goodnight, Mr Crowley!”

He was out of sight by the time Crowley convinced himself to say something down the empty hall:

“It’s just Crowley!”

* * *

In the end, Crowley had figured that his awfully cool but underappreciated by the masses trick didn’t work, and got to parking his car on a spot that had nothing to do with R. P. Tyler. He’d not seen Aziraphale since that evening and didn’t know where exactly he lived, not that it would be any kind of normal to show up on his doorstep and apologize for awkward flirting.

Until another evening a week later, as he was about to step out of the car and go home, he caught a glimpse of Aziraphale making his way up to the building entrance with a grocery bag and disappearing inside.

Crowley took a look around the parking lot, which also served as the building’s front yard, and was delighted to discover that R. P. Tyler’s car was nowhere to be seen.

He was only hoping that the man would remember not to tell Aziraphale that Crowley had requested him for “a talk” specifically.

* * *

Aziraphale had obviously done this very rarely or not at all until Crowley, because he looked as lost as he’d been the first time they met.

“Hi,” Crowley had to speak up first once again.

“Hello,” Aziraphale said faintly, “um. You did it again.”

“Really? Sorry about that, I didn’t know. I’m gonna move later tonight. Won’t happen again.”

It was amazing how he’d managed not to say a single word of truth, but Aziraphale wasn’t bothered. Instead, he shook his head in understanding, and his expression of disguised wonder was replaced by equally disguised disappointment and even sadness. He was about to say something, and then he’d leave, and Crowley couldn’t bear this.

“Wouldyouliketocomein?”Crowley blurted out, and this wasn’t the plan at all.

“Uh,” Aziraphale scrunched his forehead slightly, “pardon?”

“It’s just- You said you had moved in recently last time, and you probably don’t know anyone, so if you want to. Come in. No pressure at all.” He was starting to get the idea of how Aziraphale must’ve felt during their last interaction. And Crowley had subjected him to _that thing_ , how embarrassing. “I’ve got wine and too much pie.”

He didn’t see Aziraphale’s face while the short silence lasted.

“This sounds wonderful, I’d love to.”

Crowley heard it before he could see it, but when he looked up at Aziraphale he was smiling, and the hall lighting made it look like he had a halo, which was insane because one of the lamps had been broken for the last week and a half and no one was coming as of yet to fix it even after several complaints.

* * *

“I wanted to apologize,” Crowley said once he had an opportunity not to face Aziraphale sitting behind him in his kitchen while Crowley was pouring them both a glass, “I didn’t want to… make it awkward like that. I just had a day- I mean, it’s not an excuse. I’m just sorry about that.”

Crowley turned to him, wine glasses in both hands, and realised that he probably hadn’t been clear enough about what exactly he was apologising for, with the week that had passed and the list of everything wrong with their first interaction being that long. He took his sunglasses off when they went in (“Just let me know if it’s too dark for you, I can adjust the lights”), and Aziraphale’s inquiring gaze stopped him in his place.

“It’s okay,” Aziraphale shifted, and Crowley was moving again to place the glasses on the table. “Although I believe I still don’t know your first name.”

Crowley landed himself on the opposite chair. “Eh, it’s Anthony, but I prefer Crowley.”

“How lovely,” Aziraphale smiled to himself. Crowley didn’t ask whether this was about the wine or spinach walnut feta pie or his name, nor did he have any time to process that nothing about him was “lovely”, nobody had ever called him “lovely” these days, but Aziraphale raised his glass. “To new meetings?”

“And new places,” Crowley met the glass with his own.

The energy of meeting a new exciting person put him in a less chatty mood when Aziraphale asked him what he does, but it left enough space for Aziraphale to talk once the wine wiped off self-consciousness he had previously retained around Crowley.

(“Nursery.”

“Oh, so you like kids?”

“Uh. The ones that look least human as possible, sure.”

Seeing Aziraphale’s confused-bordering-on-horrified look, Crowley signed with his eyes to an assortment of small succulents and cacti to Aziraphale’s left, and was answered with glorious and bashful laughter.)

Aziraphale told him that he had finally decided to move out of his family’s mansion, him being the only real owner for years now with his siblings living on their own but coming and going whenever they please, throwing parties and gatherings at his place based on owning an inherited share. It was annoying even considering the enormous mansion size, and Aziraphale had saved enough and had always loved the city, so it all played out nicely. He worked an array of seemingly odd jobs that eventually led to publishing, considering himself a watercolour illustrator for books and magazines even though a lack of commissions got him drifting between text editing and book restorations, the latter well-paid but far and in-between orders bringing in the majority of his income.

“I think this is why they picked me for the… thing,” Aziraphale waved his hand around his second glass, “I work from home, mostly, and they said they needed more people just for the figures, the building being secured and all. You’re actually my very first and only charge.”

Crowley snorted into his own glass. “Thanks. And you’re the only person I’ve ever met from The Thing.”

It was entrancing, listening to him talk about his life “before” and “now” and from decades ago, when he’d changed several places and a torrent of random and academically unrelated jobs in search of a life better and more satisfying, like any young person did, and was eventually led back to his childhood house, now empty and void of memories both good and bad, only to finally decide on a place of his own years later. It shouldn’t have been like this, it should’ve been just another life story from a total stranger, but the more Crowley listened the more he wanted to continue exploring, to _know_ , to collect things Aziraphale was willing to share that went above his life overview, like how he loved _Into the Woods_ when he’d finally seen its London revival and read the entirety of _The Da Vinci Code_ because a friend who’d turned out be an asshole considered it a masterpiece, and it was essential for Aziraphale to know that he’d been wrong.

When their fourth glasses were almost finished and they were going on forth, Crowley let himself be convinced to take Aziraphale on the flat tour, only to discover that he would stand away if Crowley took a rat out of the cage.

(“They don’t have a name each, they’re just The Rats, collectively. But I was thinking of naming this one iTunes,” Crowley pointed at a fat grey rat.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, “that… sure is a name?”

“He won’t stop making a racket every time I’m trying to sleep and sleeping when I’m not, so a well-deserved one.”)

Aziraphale stopped by and coddled every blooming plant Crowley owned. It took them a long while to reach the LED-lit part of the living room where Crowley was keeping the most unsuited to the sunless London weather plants, but as Aziraphale was standing under the white light with a floor-length fern behind his back, Crowley saw it again.

He let Aziraphale coo at luscious green leaves despite the knee-jerk reaction he reserved for that kind of tone, definitely _not_ because of the flush that he could’ve felt rising after Aziraphale said that his plants looked cared for and how _nice_ Crowley must’ve been to them.

“We should do this at my place as well,” Aziraphale attempted to open the front door in a completely wrong way without realizing it, but eventually gave up and let Crowley do it. “You could meet my- oh, I haven’t fed him this evening-“

Aziraphale looked adorable, deep into his thoughts and chewing on his lip with alcohol flush on his cheeks, and Crowley fought hard to process what Aziraphale had just said.

“Uh. Would love to.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale echoed in the empty midnight-ish hall. “We didn’t move your car!”

He giggled with abandon that passed to Crowley, and they couldn’t get over the irony of this night’s ending compared to how it started for longer than if they were sober.

“Need any help getting back?” Crowley asked eventually, which only prompted a couple of more giggles from Aziraphale at the state of him.

“No, thank you, my dear. I shall go.”

Aziraphale gave him a final wide grin and pushed himself off the wall he was leaning on. Watching his back as he took a couple of uncalibrated steps, Crowley remembered to say something back. “Goodnight, angel.”

Aziraphale stopped and wobbly turned to look at him. “What?”

“Eh, I said, goodnight, and- watch where you’re going. Bye!”

* * *

A couple of things had occurred to Crowley the next day.

First, that he was still feeling slightly bad for just closing the door shut like that, but only a little bit, so it was fine.

The second was following the first, and it was the reason for why he’d done it, a memory he’d have to shake out of his head a couple of times during the day just so he wouldn’t start reflecting on how “my dear” was making him feel and in hopes of not dying of the first-hand embarrassment while at work.

Thinking about just _who_ might’ve been waiting for Aziraphale back at his flat constituted the third thing. He was fairly sure, mostly, at least, that Aziraphale didn’t have a partner; or so he hoped, because the thought of getting disappointed in him was kinda upsetting, albeit slightly less than the thought of letting him go. There was a possibility of Aziraphale completely misunderstanding Crowley’s intent, but- oh, who was he kidding!

(And a secret kid Aziraphale didn’t want to mention was another possibility Crowley tried not to entertain.)

Two days after that night, Crowley also realised that he’d never asked Aziraphale his flat number, but, he figured, now that the man had been welcomed in, _he_ knew where to go, so now it was up to Crowley to give him some space.

But then it was the end of the week again, and he’d not seen Aziraphale once, and his resolve on being cautious about approaching the man excused itself and walked out the front door.

After all, Crowley hadn’t learned that R. P. Tyler and his car would leave every Monday midday until after 8 p.m. for nothing, except this time he knocked first, telling what he’d done, demanding that the man send Aziraphale to him again, and leaving before an argument could break loose.

He had to wait for the doorbell for only ten minutes, and when he opened the door, he for once didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sure you know why I’m here,” Aziraphale said. He looked as if he was ready to shift into a determined mode, and it shouldn’t have looked so attractive to Crowley, except it did.

“Ughhh yeah,” he managed, and then didn’t know how to find the words to say the rest.

Aziraphale must’ve sensed something, and softened. “I gather that you wanted to see me specifically?”

Crowley shut his eyes for a moment, realising that he’d completely forgot to tell R. P. Tyler not to translate the entirety of his monologue to Aziraphale. “Just didn’t know what’s your flat number,” he mumbled.

“68. Just a floor above.”

“Oh, right next to the beast-man himself?” Crowley grinned, but Aziraphale just gave him a curious look. “Nevermind. Just wanted to make sure everything’s okay after the last time since you— eh— you haven’t really come ‘round.”

“Oh, I’m not used to showing up unannounced. Even to the places where I was welcomed to.”

Aziraphale smiled to himself, prompting Crowley to reciprocate, which resulted in a couple of seconds in silence that didn’t feel particularly uncomfortable.

“Listen,” Crowley said eventually, “do you want to- I mean, you could’ve got into the car while I park it somewhere else to be sure I _never_ do that wrong again,” Aziraphale huffed a laugh, “and while we’re at it we could- stop by some place? That does dinner?”

Aziraphale laughed some more, looking down at himself. “I’m afraid I’m not dressed.” He was wearing yet another cardigan, big knit and camel this time done with natural wool, and a white shirt with a small red grid pattern on it, a look Crowley had thought a person he’d be interested in would never wear, but now his own superstition was coming back to face him.

“Neither am I,” he shrugged as if he hadn’t repinned his hair two times and decided that a loose black tee with a pendant communicated better than a black long sleeve with a silver chain pattern, even if he wasn’t sure what kind of message was he trying to get across. “But we could go somewhere where we don’t need to be “dressed.”

Aziraphale’s eyes drifted as he was considering the offer.

“Unless,” Crowley chimed in, “someone is waiting for you at home?”

Aziraphale scowled. “Pardon?”

“Y’know. Last time,” Crowley worried his fingers on one hand, “last time you said you needed to feed someone back at your place, and like- if you didn’t want to tell me you’ve got a kid that’s cool, I just want you to know that it doesn’t bother me, but if there’s- uhhh- I don’t want to-”

“My rabbit.”

Crowley stared at him. “Sorry?”

“It was my rabbit. Harry.”

“Harry.”

“Yes. So I’m not keeping any children, or adults for that matter, a secret.”

The absurdity of Aziraphale’s words and the whole situation finally reached Crowley and he laughed, in relief and embarrassment. “Sorry. ‘S really stupid.”

Aziraphale ducked his head and smiled as well, and he knew that he wasn’t judged. “No, no, I really should’ve at least asked you the same.”

“Oh, I just assumed the state of my flat made it all clear.”

“It’s a nice flat! And, really, it was the fact that you’ve invited in a complete stranger that convinced me.”

Crowley tried no to overestimate.

“But please, stop misplacing your car if you want to talk to me. I have to deal with the middle man after all.”

He ended up scoffing an apology and blushing anyway, before asking, “So, what do you say?”

Aziraphale was ready to answer this time.

“What did you have in mind?”

* * *

Four months after the night Mr Crowley had asked R. P. Tyler to send Mr Fell over, he was yet to park his car on a spot that didn’t belong to him once. Not that it was possible any longer: two months ago, R. P. Tyler’s son had announced that he and his wife took a work opportunity in Australia, so he wouldn’t see his grandchildren for a year to come, meaning that there would be no need to leave the parking lot so often either.

It was the middle of the fifth month from that night when the building’s lift stopped responding one Saturday evening, while the dawn was settling in but the shops would still be open for several hours, and Mrs Tyler’s dachshund needed her evening walk. R. P. Tyler took a mental note to contact the service company so they’d finally start working around, but he wasn’t _that_ old to not be able to go five stores down.

And on the ground floor, passing by the open doors of what he’d previously assumed was the broken lift, he wasn’t surprised to see just who the culprit was.

“Gentlemen!”

His call made Mr Crowley jump to the opposite wall, but the other man had no such luxury.

“Oh, dear,” Mr Fell said faintly, “Crowley, I thought you’d pressed the button?”

“Nghh,” Mr Crowley looked at the panel desperately, “ugh, no, I didn’t.”

“Oh. A-are you going up, Mr Tyler?”

“No, thank you,” R. P. Tyler said in an unaffected tone, “I was just on my way out,” he pulled Shutzi’s leash towards the front door.

“Oh. Well. Mind how you go!” Mr Fell called back before the lift doors closed.

* * *

It was a short ride, which they were spending in silence.

“Well,” Crowley said unsurely from his position of still propping up a wall, “that was a thing.”

“I hope not, I still live next to him.”

“Not always by yourself, though,” Crowley grinned, but Aziraphale only side-eyed him fondly.

When the lift was passing the fourth floor, Crowley snorted.

“What’s this?”

“It’s just,” he snickered, “the first time you came over- when I parked on “his” spot, before he sent you I’d told him that if he called the police I’d just have sex with them.”

Aziraphale laughed. “You didn’t.”

“Fine,” Crowley quickly gave up to his sceptical tone, “I didn’t, not really. Just said that they were invited to my orgy.”

Aziraphale looked properly scandalised. “Crowley!”

The lift pinged and let them out.

“What? Who am I to deny the man his calm in knowing he was right in his assumptions?”

Aziraphale fished the keys out of his pocket. “Was this your initial plan? If it wasn’t me?”

“Eh,” Crowley watched him open the front door while propping a second wall that evening, “not even if you were the cop, no, but you wouldn’t.”

“Quite right,” Aziraphale held the door open. “Do you know, two is not enough for an orgy.”

“That,” Crowley said with an undeniable level of expertise, “is only true if they’re not good at it.”

He held his very serious and stern gaze together with Aziraphale’s until his exterior cracked and they both dissolved into giggles.

“Goodnight, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured eventually, too soft for an empty and silent hall, sans the overhead lighting noise.

Crowley pecked him on the lips, which grew into something prolonged and was cut short before it could continue. “Goodnight, angel.”

It was hard for him to hold back a genuine smile these days, especially when Aziraphale returned it, so Crowley didn’t even try. He held it even as Aziraphale disappeared into his flat and closed the door, and then as he made his way down the hall, already thinking about seeing his angel tomorrow.

It was a nice night.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at tumblr @polkanote


End file.
